


Stadi Lives

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, Episode: s04e07 Scientific Method, F/F, F/M, Humor, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 05:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18276758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: What if Stadi, the Betazoid helmswoman from Caretaker, lived and had to endure the NSFW thoughts of the Voyager command team?





	Stadi Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The ladies of the Voyager Book Club](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+ladies+of+the+Voyager+Book+Club).



If they don’t fuck each other soon, I’m going to lose my mind. 

When we got underway, she thought about Mark and he thought about Seska. I could handle that. Harry thought some pretty vanilla stuff about Libby, and Tuvok, well, he has strong mental control, but let’s just say he misses T’Pel very much. 

But the two of them. Damn. 

At some point, her fantasies changed. They still started with Mark, but now she somehow would receive word he had died. She imagined herself going to her ready room to grieve, then Chakotay would check on her and my God. I won’t touch her desk and I can’t even sit on that sofa. 

For a while, he thought about both Seska and the captain at once. He deserves a commendation for original thinking, because I’ve never known a woman to agree to half the things he had them both doing. When it turned out Seska was a spy, he didn’t fantasize at all for a few weeks. Then, holy shit. It’s usually the captain, but he’ll envision himself with anybody. Once, it was me up against my console, so I turned and asked him if he needed anything from the helm. That shut up his brain. 

I’ll take the musings of that homicidal maniac Suder over anything from those two deprived horndogs. 

When they were on New Earth, the bridge was so peaceful. Then, they came back and their fantasies intensified — only now they pictured the anatomy correctly. 

I would doubt the human body could sustain some of the things she thinks about, but she’s got the proof in her memories. I respect that. Damn, that woman has done some athletic fucking. 

When Seven came onboard, he fantasized about airlocking her for a while. That was a reprieve. Then … shit. The guy has a personal game of Fuck, Marry, Kill going on with that former drone. 

But she’s mine.

When the captain branches out to Ayala or someone else, anyone else, it’s easier. Those are just thoughts. With Chakotay, she’s been-there-done-that on a planet of viral fuckbugs, so she’s so damn specific. 

It’s been getting worse lately. Everyone is behaving strangely. I can sense some sort of additional presence, but I can’t quite place it. 

Suddenly, the pressure in my head becomes enormous. I hear the EMH: “She's in hypertensive shock. Twenty milligrams lectrazine. Her blood pressure is three-sixty over one-twenty-five.” The captain asks how that’s possible and the EMH says I’m in severe adrenal stress. 

I’m dying. Oh, sweet release from every shift full of the two of them separately picturing biting, licking, hard-core fucking, gentle caresses, and tongue contortions the likes of which make it difficult for me to stay in my chair. They crossed the anal barrier a few months ago. I didn’t want to think about what might be next. 

I hear the EMH announce my arterial pathways are rupturing. I’m in cardiac arrest. The captain tries CPR.

It won’t work. I do, however, now understand Chakotay fantasy number 47. And 48 through 53.

I send Seven my mental goodbye, and I’m gone. Oh, wonderful oblivion. Thank the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and every one of the holy rings. 

Shit. Seven had better wipe my computer before they get to it. 


End file.
